We came into this world together
by 5sunday5
Summary: Before they were immoral, incestuous KingSlayers or Evil Queens, they were just children. A story about forbidden love and growing up in Casterly Rock. Some adult themes, coarse language and violence. Cersei/Jaime
1. Chapter 1

******An overdue disclaimer. All characters and places referred to in this story are the creation and property of G.R.R. Martin, with the exception of Stripy the puppy who is my own creation. I do not profit financially from this story in fact seeing as I write most of it when I'm meant to be working at my actual job it is directly contributing to my poverty. Cheers**

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The girl ran down the wide curving stairs, her bare feet making only a soft slapping sound on the stone. She turned away from the direction of the main entrance, the numerous guards and myriad of servants sweeping, polishing and arranging; heading instead for the back of the castle. She moved quickly and quietly down the hallways, her slim form skipping between the pillars like a shadow.

At the door to the kitchens she paused, peeking around into the cavernous room that billowed endless steam and smoke. Staff yelled across wide tables, equipment clattered and pots bubbled noisily on vast stoves. Seeing the cooks with their backs turned from the doorway, heads in the dinner preparations, she scurried on past. _A feast again tonight_, she thought, _now that Father's home for a week all the staff are busy. _Which suited her fine. She reached the servant's entrance, sat on the worn wooden steps and pulled on a pair of old boots that she kept hidden in the corner. Grabbed an overcoat that fell to her knees, tied up the hem of her long gown. Braided up her hair, and fastened it. Then she was outside, running down the dirt path towards the stables.

The ocean breeze was fresh in her lungs, tasting of salt and seaweed. The morning sun warm on her hair. She reached the stables and went along the centre aisle, breathing in the smell of grass hay, leather, manure and horse sweat. Surely the best combination of smells ever.

_'I want this perfect.' _Her father's words from earlier rang in her head. As she'd sat in the study at the top of the castle, since breakfast time, trying to get the needlepoint embroidery just right. A pastel picture of a bowl on a table, full of lilies. Even the image was stiflingly feminine.

Septa had helped her, but the patterned fabric still hadn't been good enough. The lines of the lily stems were crooked, and her father had sneered looking at it. 'Your efforts haven't progressed since the last time I saw you,' he'd said. The girl had bit her tongue to stop from telling him that was because she hadn't practised needlework since the last time he'd seen her. Like most girlish things he desired for her to excel at, she simply had no interest.

If only Father let her do sword-practise with her brother; she'd always been as good as him playing with sticks when they were younger. She could run just as fast, climb just as high, and hold her breath underwater for just as long. If only Father let her go hunting.

Hunting was another talent where she'd been on a par with her brother. Better, in some ways that required patience, like setting snares for rabbits. He could never be bothered with the all the fiddly preparations; choosing the right spot, setting the wire and concealing it exactly so that the wary rabbit wouldn't notice. Her brother preferred to shoot them with a bow and arrow. But in the end she always caught more rabbits than he did.

These days though, she wasn't allowed to hunt. Or play at sword-fighting with sticks. These days it was all needlepoint and deportment lessons. Which she avoided whenever she could, in any way she could, the servants and nannies being easy to outwit. When Father was home, though, it was a different matter. Then, getting out of her lessons was a real challenge.

Normally she'd just suffer through them and count the days until he left, but this morning the bright sunlight shining through the window of the stuffy, airless study had beckoned her, despite Father's stern words. It was easy enough to give Septa the slip, citing an upset stomach and need for the bathroom. With any luck, by the time Father returned from meticulously overseeing the castle's defences, a task which generally took him all day, he'd be none the wiser about how she'd spent her morning.

There were no grooms around as she entered the tack room, the horses had already been fed and the stalls mucked out. She grabbed a halter, went into the nearest horse's stall. The grey horse willingly dropped its head for her to bridle and stood quietly as the girl tucked up her gown and scrambled onto its back.

None of the horses had names. They were known only as the grey, the black, the dapple gelding, the red mare. Father thought it was sentimental and unnecessary to name animals. Or become close to them. He regarded it as a sign of weakness. Every month or so he sold all their horses and bought new ones, to prevent her or her siblings getting 'too attached'. The first time he'd done it to her beloved pony, when she was six years old, she'd cried, but that was the only time. The look of disdain on Father's face at her tears, and his subsequent order for the pony to be slaughtered in front of her, had made sure that she'd never again shown any emotion towards the horses.

The girl couldn't resist giving the grey horse a pat as she rode it out of the stables. Its neck was firm and smooth, and there was no-one around to frown on the small show of affection. She gathered the reins, which felt supple and fitted easily in her hands. _A welcome relief from the blisters on my fingertips from the needlepoint, _she thought.

Although the courtyard at the back of the castle was often busy with delivery boys, garden staff or builders, today it was uncommonly deserted. She guessed all the staff had been put to work out the front to make the Lion's Mouth entrance as pristine as possible while Father was here. The girl almost laughed. _The gods are smiling on me today,_ she decided, as she dug her heels into the grey's flanks and trotted briskly across the cobblestones. Along the laneway at the side of the granary, past the old belltower, through the narrow, leaning gate that led out on the bluff, the wind whipping her hair.

She urged the grey into a gallop and raced along the top of the cliff, down the long slope to the forest below. Once in among the trees she slowed and let the horse catch its breath. Her hair had fallen loose from its bun and smelt like the sea.

The horse and the girl wound their way through the shady thickets, along tracks she knew as well as she knew the corridors and rooms in the castle. Her brother and her had spent many days playing hide and seek here, inventing battles and plundering make-believe enemy encampments. She rode for about an hour, enjoying the calmness of the forest and the freedom of the horse's steady movement underneath her, before turning back.

Deciding to take a different path than usual home, she noticed distant rays of sunlight sparkling through the tree trunks, and could hear the faint sound of water burbling. She pushed the grey through a twisting maze of shrubs and bracken until they came out into a small clearing bordering a hidden rock pool. A waterfall dropped off a high shelf of rock through a shroud of mist. The water of the pool was magically, vividly, blue. Clear and inviting.

The girl's first thought was that this was something she _had_ to share with her brother. As soon as possible. He absolutely loved out-of-the-way places, the more hidden the better; he also loved swimming. The fact that she'd managed to find a perfect place like this without him just made it all the more delicious. The girl was bursting with anticipation as she pointed the grey's head back on the path to the castle and dug in her heels.

Racing up the cliff path, she couldn't see any movement on the castle's turrets, and once through the leaning gate she saw only one gardener too busy at his work to notice her. She didn't dismount and lead the grey back past the granary, but rode directly into the courtyard, remembering how empty it had been when she'd left only two hours ago.

The extra ten minutes she'd save by not going the long way back to the stables was ten minutes earlier she'd be able to locate her brother and tell him of the swimming hole. His reaction was foremost on her mind. _He's going to be so excited_, she thought. It seemed luck was with her again as the courtyard was empty.

It was dim in the stable block as she rode through the open doors. She swung down off the grey's back and blinked to adjust her eyes from the bright light outside. Suddenly a hand grabbed her arm and she was unceromoniously spun around. The horse shied and the girl let out a yelp of surprse.

Her father's eyes stared into hers. They were pale blue, like the centre of a candle flame where it burned the hottest. Dressed in red and gold finery, hair combed back in immaculate lines, his gaze flicked down to take in her crumpled dress and dirty hands. The girl's stomach dropped and her mouth went dry.

'So,' Father said, with a sardonic quirk of his thin lips. 'The seamstress returns.'

'I just... it-it was...' the girl stammered, unable as always in the paralysing presence of her father to formulate any kind of decent excuse. Not that anything she could have said would've mattered at that point. Father gestured for a groom to take the horse and strode out of the stables, half-carrying, half-dragging the girl beside him. She knew nothing would be gained from trying to talk her way out of whatever punishment he had in store for her, so she didn't speak.

They went up the front steps and through the giant Lion's Mouth archway, past the guards who studiously ignored them, acoss the great stone entrance hall, the girl's muddy boots slipping as she tried to keep up with his long strides. Down the long corridor to the curving staircase, then up the stairs. By the time they reached her bedroom door her arm felt completely numb.

Father kicked the heavy door open and flung her inside. She tumbled headfirst onto the bearskin rug, her chin hitting the floor and knocking teeth through her lip. Skinning her elbows on the granite as the rug rucked up from her momentum.

She got up on her hands and knees and turned to look back at the door. Father was standing there, regarding her with distaste. He looked as he always did, superior and cold.

'You'll stay here until you learn how to obey instruction,' he said. 'That may be a long time, but until you do, you won't be leaving this room.' He turned to go, then paused and turned back. 'Oh. And the horse you rode today will be butchered. You seem way too enamoured of the beast.' He left the room, and she heard the thick metal bolts shoot through.

The girl tasted blood from her lip. She smacked her palms onto the floor in frustration. Got to her feet, picked up the rug and hurled it with all her might into her mantelpiece. A vase shattered and candlesticks scattered to the floor. As she marched over to her bed, the crunch of broken crystal under her boots was satisfying.

She ripped off her hated and now dirty gown, tearing the row of pearl buttons and the delicately stitched fabric. Then she threw herself face-down on the bed in her underclothes, cursing with every swear word she'd ever overhead from the servant's quarters, and some she made up herself.

Eventually her anger faded and she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. It was a very high ceiling, ornately patterned, and she imagined she was actually hanging upside down and about to hurtle into its depths. _That would be preferable to spending a beautiful sunny day locked in my room by myself, _she thought.

Time passed slowly. The shadows on the walls moved across her room as the day lengthened into afternoon. Cooking smells wafted in, and her stomach grumbled. From her high, narrow window she could hear voices, wheels creaking, horses snorting, and the everyday goings-on of the castle. She felt so alone. Bitterness filled her. Bitterness toward her father, and her brothers who were doing gods knows what without her.

Suddenly the door rattled and the bolts clicked. She sat up. The door opened marginally and the lithe figure of her brother slipped through. He closed the door, looked at her and held his finger to his lips.

She grinned. He grinned back. He ran across the room lightly and launched himself onto the bed beside her. She giggled and swatted at him as he rolled over, nearly pushing her off. 'Shhh!' she said, but he had a mad look in his eyes and grabbed her under the arms, his fingers threatening to tickle. She wriggled and buried her face into the silk counterpane to stop her laughter bursting out. Finally she managed to rid herself of his hands and they both lay back on the bed, heads together. His hair was tousled and damp with sweat from whatever weapons practise he'd obviously been doing all day, and she again felt a stab of envy.

'You'll get in trouble, being here, Jaime,' she said.

He shrugged. 'What else am I gonna do?'

'Annoy Tyrion?'

'He's in the library. Again. If he fills his head with any more words it will explode.' Jaime yawned, loudly. 'I heard you snuck out.' He gave her a look that was at once sympathetic and admiring. She knew it was difficult for him too, not being able to share adventures with her as they'd always done. After years of barely being apart longer than a few minutes in any given day, of sharing secret languages and every thought that came into their heads, of never discovering anything they didn't immediately share with the other... now they were supposed to spend most of the day separated? Doing completely different things? It was unnatural.

'You'd sneak out too if you had to needlepoint a fucking bowl of flowers,' she said. There was a shocked second of silence at her swearing, then they both collapsed into fits of laughter.

'Shhh!' she warned, trying to smother him with her pillow. He grabbed it off her, tossed it onto the floor. Jumped up out of bed, his long limbs nearly knocking her over, and began to dance a little jig in front of her. He looked so funny she couldn't stop herself from laughing again, louder than he had. He bowed, accepting he'd won the round. 'Come on, Cers,' he said. 'We're not sitting around here all day.'

'The day's nearly over,' she pointed out. 'And... Father said -'

'Still plenty of sun outside,' he observed. 'And, _fuck_ Father.'

She smiled then, at the memory of what she had to tell him, and he saw it in her eyes before she even opened her mouth. 'What? What?' he demanded, grabbing her hand and dragging her up off the bed excitedly. 'What is it?'

'I have to show you something,' she told him, buzzing with the same excitement he'd infected her with. 'It's _amazing!'_

'What is it, a place? A thing? What?'

'A place. You're gonna _love _it!'

Jaime's eyes shone with anticipation, and she knew they were a mirror relection of her own. Her blood sang along with his at the thought of adventure, and hand in hand they slipped silently out of her room.


	2. Chapter 2

Climbing down from Jaime's bedroom window hadn't been difficult. He had long ago identified all the notches and handholds on the castle wall outside his room and carved them out where necessary, so in less than five minutes they were on the ground. What was more difficult was figuring out how to get a horse now that the grooms and stablehands had no doubt been told not to let her in.

Jaime left her hiding behind the old Well and went swaggering up to the stable as if he were Lord of the Rock already. Cersei didn't really expect that he'd be allowed to take a horse out without the grooms at least checking with Father first, but Jaime must have spun them a good line of bluster because he came riding out on Father's own white stallion. _ Damn boys, they really do have it easy in life, _she thought.

The stallion was so tall and wide across that Jaime's skinny legs didn't reach to the bottom of the girth, and he perched on its back as if a strong gust of wind would unseat him. The look on his face was so smug that Cersei almost wanted to push him off herself. But then they wouldn't be going anywhere, so instead she stood on tiptoe on the low wall of the Well and swung her leg over the stallion's back as he rode up alongside. 'How did you talk them into letting you take Father's horse?' she wanted to know, wrapping her arms around his waist.

'I told them he'd asked me to excersize it for him.'

'And they believed you?'

'Well he wasn't around to say no. He's down on the beach, with the Captain of the Guard, talking about putting in another catapult. Or something.'

'You'll be in trouble if he finds out.'

Jaime let go of the reins and spread his hands wide. 'The things I do for my sister.' He kicked the stallion abruptly into a gallop with his hands still outstretched, and Cersei squealed as the horse accelerated with unexpected speed. It was Father's best war-horse, after all. The sea breeze blew hard in their faces, the horse's powerful strides flew down the slope, and her squeals turned to laughter. _Doing forbidden things with Jaime? There is nothing better in the world_, she thought.

They reached the rock pool while the sun still had enough warmth to make the blue water look like a gift from the gods, made just for them. Jaime let out a whoop on seeing it, and took off charging for the waterfall before the horse had even fully stopped, shedding clothes as he went. It was left to Cersei to get the stallion under control and tie it securely to a tree, and she turned around just in time to see her brother standing on the highest point of the rocks, waiting for her attention.

His naked skin glowed bronze in the slanting rays of sun. He looked so small up there her breath caught in her throat, but he dived off and out in a confident arc and easily cleared the waterfall. He surfaced beside the cascading spray, flicked his hair from his face, dived under again and swam beneath the water all the way to the bank. Cersei could see right to the bottom of the pool, it was so clear. Jaime looked like a seal undulating through the water, all sleek and graceful.

She stood on the bank above where he re-surfaced, and grinned down at him. She knew he'd love this place, and she was never wrong about Jaime.

'You're right. This is amazing,' he said. 'Get in here.'

She stripped off the clothes he'd given her to wear in place of her ripped gown; they were his clothes but fit her well. They were both similar build with long legs and narrow hips. She took a running jump off the bank and cleared him, swung her arms over her head and hands together, cut into the water in a perfect knife shape.

The water was cold as she plunged down into the depths. At the bottom she cruised along the pebbly floor, admiring the dapples of sunlight patterning her arms in wavy diagonals, drifting in the gentle swell of the current. Then Jaime grabbed her from behind and flipped her over. She kicked and freed herself, heading for the surface in a stream of bubbles. He let her take a breath before dragging her back under again by the ankles.

She managed to wriggle free and swam to the rocks, climbing out of the water before he could reach her. She screamed and splashed him in the face, then she leapt across the slippery stones till she reached a wide, flat boulder. The late sun bounced off the shiny surface and cast a rainbow through the mist rising off the waterfall.

Cersei sat down and waited for Jaime to catch up. He bent and shook his hair all over her, and she splashed him again. Then they lay on their stomachs on the warm rock side by side and let the sun slowly dry their wet bodies.

In the reflection below, as they leaned their head and arms over the edge, they looked like replicas of each other. Her long hair and his broader shoulders the only discernible differences. It pleased Cersei to look at their symmetrical faces, the beauty of them evident even in the shimmering water.

'Let's come here every day,' Jaime said.

'I think Father will have something to say about that,' she countered.

'We'll find a way,' Jaime said. 'What he doesn't know won't hurt him.'

'I think we'll be the ones getting hurt.'

'But it will be worth it.' He stretched out, trailed a hand down her back. It tickled. 'Maybe we can bring Tyrry.'

Cersei pulled a face. 'He's barely off his wet nurse. He can't swim.' _ And I don't want anyone else here, ruining our special place. Especially not him._

'He can swim, a bit. I've been teaching him.'

'What? When?'

'During the day. On the beach. While you've been... doing your lessons.'

She frowned. She knew her brothers had grown closer this last year, by circumstance, because she was so often kept inside doing pointless and boring craft. _But teaching the little monster to swim? _It infuriated her that she'd been replaced in Jaime's day-to-day life by someone who never should even have existed. It should be her and Jaime doing things together; it should be her and Jaime and no-one else.

She rolled away from him and crawled to another rock where he couldn't reach her. Put her legs in the water and pretended to be absorbed in their smooth perfection, watching the droplets glisten along her creamy skin as she moved her feet under the surface. Jaime came up behind her and she jumped into the pool, keeping out of his reach. He jumped in after her, and she duck-dived away, swimming fast to the bank.

She put her hands on the edge and went to lift herself out, but Jaime caught her and spun her round. She pushed at him, and he grabbed her wrists and held fast. For maybe the first time, although she'd suspected it for a while, she was aware of how he was now stronger than her.

_Because he spends all day outside fighting, while I spend all day sewing_, she thought. _Fighting and playing and swimming with Tyrion. That ugly, useless, interfering little imp_.

'Let me go,' she hissed. She struggled to free her hands.

Jaime pressed right up against her with the whole length of his body so she was pinned to the bank. In the cold water, his skin felt hot. 'What's wrong?' he said. 'Don't be mad at me, Cers.'

'I'm sorry I brought you here. I won't come here again with you. You can bring _Tyrion_ here instead.' She spat out the name as if it were a curse.

Jaime looked confused, and upset. 'I don't want to come here without you.'

She looked away, her jaw set.

Jaime didn't let her hands go, but leaned in to breathe in her hair. He rested his forehead lightly on hers. 'I only want to come here with you. I miss you.'

'I miss you too,' she whispered, letting her body go limp. 'I don't like hearing about you and Tyrion... doing things together.'

'I promise, I won't talk to Tyrion for the rest of the week. Not a word.' He put his hand on his heart. 'If he looks at me, I'll spit on his feet.'

She giggled.

'If he talks to me, I'll fart in his face.'

Cersei laughed, and Jaime's eyes lit up like the sound of it was all he wanted to hear for the rest of his life. He crossed his eyes and poked out his tongue. She poked out hers back, and leaning forward suddenly, licked his cheek. He grimaced and exclaimed in surprise, let her hands go to wipe it. In a flash she'd escaped him and was up on the bank, skipping back to where she'd left the clothes. He let her go with a grin and rested his arms on the bank.

'You win,' he called after her.

She turned around with the clothes in one hand, gave a little teasing shimmy to goad him now that he was too far away to catch her. She did a victory dance, pirouetted in a circle.

When she looked back at him, he wasn't grinning any more. He was staring at her in a strange way, his expression serious and his eyes darker than she'd ever seen them. It was disconcerting, and she held the clothes in front of her. The sun was going down, and her skin prickled with goosebumps all over.

'Come on, we better get back before they miss us,' she said.

Jaime stared at her thoughtfully a moment longer, then backflipped lazily into the water and swam away.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time they rode back up the cliff path, the sun was setting and everything was stained orange and pink. The long shadow of the stallion stretched out in front of them, its legs on stilts. Cersei sat in front on the way home, Jaime's arms looped loosely around her waist. Her skin still tingled from the cold water, and her hair dried in tangles.

The castle on the rocky bluff loomed over them, its grey ramparts and battlements edged with fire as the sun sank below the horizon. Cersei let the horse walk up the hill, to cool down before they arrived back at the stables. It would do them no good if Father noticed his horse blowing or covered in sweat.

It was nice feeling Jaime behind her, his breath on her neck, his body heat warm on her back. It reminded her of when they still slept together. As infants they'd curled as close as seed pods their nanny had told them, sometimes chewing on each other's balled fists. They would cry and cry inconsolably if separated, and never fall asleep unless touching one another. Even when they were five years old, Cersei remembered how if she turned over, Jaime's little foot would stretch out in his sleep and press against her back, or side. His toes kneading her flesh like a cat's paws as it settled in your lap . Even in his dreams he was seeking her out, making certain she was still there, next to him, where she belonged.

Of course they weren't allowed to sleep together any more. Not since they were seven, and their mother had walked in one morning to find them touching each other in a way she deemed 'inappropriate.' _Which was ridiculous_, Cersei thought. _We have touched each other since the womb, Jaime's body is as much mine as his own, and my body his. We are one person split into two. Why shouldn't I touch him, as he touches himself? Why shouldn't his skin be next to mine, our breath mix together as we sleep? Who is anyone to try to keep apart those who long to be together? _

Cersei sighed at the memory of that day. Her mother, as much as she'd loved them, didn't understand. She'd been angry. Cersei didn't even understand what exactly it was they'd done so wrong. Being curious about her brother's body was the same in her mind as being curious about her own. It was confusing to see Mother barely able to look at either of them as she made them swear never to do 'anything like that', ever again.

Jaime had been frightened to sleep alone in his own room, and over breakfasts for a week his face was streaked with tears. Cersei's heart hurt for him, and for herself. Lying in the big, empty bed at night, it'd felt like her skin had been flayed off, and she was exposed and abandoned in a way she'd never before thought possible. She'd hated Mother then, lay awake all through those long nights wishing her dead.

And then, not long after, she had been. And instead of a loving, if misunderstanding, mother, they had in her place a squalling, annoying, deformed younger brother. _Life was cruel._

The horse and two riders reached the castle courtyard and Cersei dismounted, leaving Jaime to take the stallion back to the stalls while she waited for him in the shadows of the garden. As she fidgeted impatiently, she could hear distant voices and the tramp of numerous boots drifting on the breeze coming up from the sea path. It sounded as if Father and his guards were returning from their surveying of the beach. They'd be going into the main entrance soon, and she needed to be back in her locked room before Father came up the stairs.

Cersei stared hard at the stables doors, willing Jaime to hurry. _What was he doing? Come on, come on. _She twisted her hair and bit her nails. Finally Jaime's lean figure came running out of the doors and across the courtyard towards her. His teeth flashed white in the dim light.

'All good. I brushed all the sweat marks off so Father will be none the wiser,' he said as he got to her.

'You took your time!' she snapped. ' I can hear him coming home now, so quick!' Cersei shoved her brother and they ran around the side of the castle wall until they were directly under Jaime's room. He boosted her up to the first foothold and was about to follow when a noise distracted him.

Cersei looked down. Waddling around the side of the garden came Tyrion, his blonde head bent to look at something he was carrying carefully in his chubby arms. Cersei looked up again and grabbed the next handhold in the stone wall, prayed that Jaime would follow her before Tyrion noticed them. But it was too late. Their younger brother lifted his head and his face broke into a delighted smile.

'Jimi! Sisi!' he cried, in that irritating babyish voice. _He was four years old already, when was the idiot ever going to say their names properly?_ She ignored him and hoped Jaime would do the same. They probably only had minutes left before Father entered the castle.

'Hey Tyrry,' Jaime said, dropping back to ground. He crouched down to be at his little brother's level. Tyrion raced over on his pudgy legs and began to bounce up and down manically at Jaime's attention. 'Look Jimi, look!' he squeaked, holding out the thing he was cradling. Cersei heard Jaime take in a mock-excited breath and exclaim 'Wow, Tyrry! You got yourself a puppy? A real life puppy? That's _amazing_!' The boys smacked hands together and Tyrion chuckled with childish glee.

_Amazing? _Cersei thought, rolling her eyes to herself. _Amazing like my waterhole was amazing? Please. The kid is too stupid to know Jaime is just humouring him. Why are we wasting precious minutes on this? _After Jaime's perfect proportions and easy grace, having to look apon Tyrion's ill-formed features and lurching gait hurt her eyes.

'Do you wanna pat?' Tyrion said, and promptly stood on tiptoe and dumped the furry bundle from his arms into Jaime's hands. Jaime cuddled the puppy up to his chest and scratched it behind the ears. 'Oh, he's a good one. Look at his markings; brindle. Brindle dogs are the best. You want me to help you train him?'

'Yes! Jimi help train him!' Tyrion chirped, clapping his hands and jiggling on his toes like a demented wind-up toy.

'Come _ON!' _Cersei said crossly. 'He's making us _late!'_

Jaime glanced at her guiltily, then handed the puppy back to Tyrion. 'We'll train him together, alright Tyrry? He'll be the very best dog ever. But we have to go now. I'll see you at dinner. You look after him carefully, now.'

Tyrion nodded seriously. 'Tyrry look after Stripy.'

'Stripy? Is that his name? That's a great name.'

'_Jaime!' _Cersei seethed in frustration.

'Sorry,' Jaime said, stepping back up to the wall. They clambered up the stones, onto the first shingled window ledge. Cersei looked back down to see if the dwarf had gone, but he was still standing there in the evening light looking up at them, his face radiant with admiration. _ I'd be in awe of us too, if my legs and arms were that useless, _she thought.

Jaime took the lead to climb the next section, because he knew the way better. She copied him, fitting her fingers and toes into each notch and groove. He reached his window and slid inside headfirst, turned around and grabbed her arms to pull her up.

They looked around the room, but all was as they'd left it. Took their boots off and kicked them under his windowseat, then Jaime took her hand and they crept to the door and listened. They heard nothing outside. He opened it a crack, stuck his head through, then opened it all the way. They padded out onto the landing in bare feet, silent as two lion cubs. Around the bannisters engraved with swirling patterns that curved down the staircase, along the hallway to Cersei's room. The bolts on her door were pulled back, and she hesitated.

'We should have locked this before we left,' she said, annoyed at their oversight.

Jaime looked at the door, then at her, and his face made her blood freeze.

'I did,' he whispered.

The door swung open and they both took a step back. Cersei felt Jaime's hand grip hers tighter. Father towered in the doorway, his expression carved from granite, observing them both with an icy detachment that made Cersei feel like a tiny bug about to have its legs plucked out one by one. She swallowed. Jaime's hand in hers was the only thing keeping her from turning and bolting for the staircase.

'Now that you're back,' Father swept one hand towards her bed and inclined his head with chilling politeness. 'You'd better come on in.'


	4. Chapter 4

Cersei let go of her brother's hand as they walked into her bedroom ahead of Father. He wouldn't approve of hand-holding, and there was no need to make things worse than they already were. She didn't look at Jaime, and she hoped he wasn't looking at her. The only thing guaranteed to make Father less happy than one of his children sneaking off against his express orders, was if he found out both of them had conspired against him together.

'Come here,' Father crooked his finger at her. She went and stood in front of him. His glacial gaze took in her messy hair, her ragged fingernails and hands black with dirt, her clothes which were Jaime's shirt and breeches. 'What in the gods names are you wearing?' he muttered. 'You look like a filthy urchin.' He clicked his tongue at the huge disappointment he obviously considered her to be. She said nothing.

'Jaime.' Father turned to his son, business-like. 'You impressed me today with your sword skills. I could not fault your dedication, nor your willingness to improve yourself. Unlike your _sister_ here,' he hissed the word through his teeth as if even saying it pained him, 'it appears you have actually been putting effort into your studies. But you -' he turned back to Cersei, 'This is the second time today you've disobeyed me. So now, you will be punished.'

There was a long silence, where she guessed she was meant to fearfully anticipate what he had in store for her. She kept her face impassive, clenched her teeth together_. I will not give you the satisfaction, _she thought. She already knew, anyway. Had seen the long thin cane with the black leather handle leaning up against the wall beside her door.

Father walked over to the wall. Picked up the cane and flipped it to point upwards with deliberate flair. Then he walked back to resume his position in front of Cersei. The unjustness of what was about to happen rose up inside her like bile and came flying out of her mouth.

'If I was allowed to practise sword-fighting, I would be good at it too! I'm just as _good _as Jaime at fighting, and he's just as _bad_ as me at needlepoint!'

Father inclined his head slowly, an eyebrow cocked as if he couldn't quite believe her insolent outburst. He waited an agonisingly long time before speaking, and Cersei could see out of the corner of her eye that Jaime's face had lost all its colour and he was biting his lower lip She resolved then to be brave for both of them, and show no reaction, no matter what happened.

'You really are a difficult child,' Father sighed. 'And a fantasist. As good as Jaime, at fighting?' He gave a mirthess chuckle. 'The boy can best half my guards already; in another year he'll best them all. He has more natural talent with a sword than I have ever seen from one his age. But more importantly, he applies himself tirelessly to bettering his skills, skills that are possessed _only _by those of his gender. Women lack strength and stategic thinking. Something that you seem to be too obstinate to understand.'

He paused and shook his head. 'I would think that at twelve, girl, you are quite old enough to start behaving properly, and repaying some of the investment I've made in you up until this point. You've had the best nannies, the best teachers, the best opportunities. And how do you respond?' He waited, as if he were sincerely inviting her to answer, which of course he wasn't, and she didn't. He continued on: 'You respond with disobedience. Defiance. Laziness. Over and over again. Well, you will learn. You might hate me, but you will learn.'

He lifted the cane and ran it through his gloved hands. 'You,' he looked at Jaime, 'Go up to the study and wait for me there. You,' he looked back at Cersei, 'Turn around.'

Jaime spoke up suddenly. 'No - _don't!_ I... I was the one who told her to come outside. She didn't want to, she wanted to stay in her room, but I made her. It was my fault, only mine.'

Father smiled at Jaime. 'Taking responsibility, eh? Admirable.' He considered his son for a moment. Cersei glanced at Jaime, silently acknowledging his futile heroics. Jaime's eyes blazed and his chin jutted out. Cersei had never known Father to change his mind about anything once it was made up.

'Good.' Father said, with a smile that could have cut glass. 'You want to take responsibility for this little travesty? You can stay and watch. See exactly what you helped to occur. Come here, boy, and stand next to me.'

Jaime reluctantly walked over and stood beside the door. Cersei felt his eyes on her, maybe trying to give her strength or reassurance, but she refused to look at him. She thought if she did she might crack.

'Turn around, girl,' Father commanded.

She did as she was told.

'Lean over the bed. Pull down those...' she imagined the curl of Father's lip as he said it, '... _breeches_.'

Cersei obeyed him, refusing to let her hands tremble. The air was cold on her legs. He thought he was going to make her cry, but she wouldn't. She ground her jaw together so it wouldn't open and betray her. She wouldn't cry in front of Jaime._ You can't make me. _

'Keep your underclothes on,' Father said. 'Your brother is watching.'

_We swam together naked but an hour ago. My nakedness means nothing to Jaime, you foolish old man._

'Don't turn your face away,' she heard Father address Jaime behind her. 'For every stroke I think you aren't watching, she will recieve another one. Do you understand?'

It felt like time stretched out and every second was endless. Cersei stared at the intricate patterns on her counterpane, at her hands crossed in front of her face. She could see her fingernails with little crescents of dirt under them. Blood roared in her ears and her mind was blank.

There was a whistling sound, and the cane hit her. It hurt worse than she'd expected, like fire. Almost immediately, tears sprang into her eyes. She squeezed them shut.

'One,' counted Father.

Cersei promised herself she wouldn't cry out. And up until the fifth stroke, she kept her promise. By the tenth, she didn't care any more.

* * *

Afterwards, she blamed Tyrion. If he hadn't delayed them with his stupid puppy, Jaime and her may have got away with it._ Ruining everything as he always did, ever since he'd been born. _Not that she regretted going with Jaime to the rock pool. She didn't regret anything she did with Jaime.

She lay on her bed, her backside and legs numb, face hot with dried tears, missing her mother so much it made her ache all the way inside. If Mother were alive, she never would have let Father treat her this way. She would have stopped him. What sense did the world have, when something like Tyrion lived, and someone like Mother died? Her beautiful, doting, compassionate mother. _Mother was worth a thousand dwarves._

Cersei's stomach hurt from not eating since breakfast, and she was thirsty. After a long time, she got up and lit a candle, retrieved her crumpled gown off the floor. She balled it up and found a shard of broken vase beside the bed. Carefully, wrapping her sleeve around the end to stop cutting her hand, she dug the sharp edge of the crystal into the stitches that held the sections of dress together, snapping each one. She unpicked every embroidered flower. It took over an hour but by the time she was finished, not even the most skilled seamstess in Westeros could have restored the gown.

She lay down on her bed, slept for a while. It was late at night when Jaime crept into the room and woke her by sliding his cold feet into her legs.

'Hey Cers,' he said.

She turned over to face him. Nothing needed to be said, so she just lay next to him and felt his warm breath on her face. He touched her cheeks with the tips of his fingers and wiped tears away that she didn't know were there.

'I hate him,' Jaime said. 'I hate him _so much.'_

Cersei sighed. 'Hating him achieves nothing.'

'Are you hungry? I saved you some food. You want it?'

'Thanks. Maybe later.'

Jaime snuggled closer, put his arm around her. 'I didn't watch, you know. He made me look but I didn't _see_.'

'How do you mean?'

'I go away... inside of myself. Like, I'm there but I'm not, you know? Do you do that too?'

Cersei remembered wishing that she could escape her body, but being unable to. In contrast, she'd felt more present in her self than normal, more sensitive and with heightened awareness to every burning shock of pain.

'I can't,' she said, jealous that Jaime had a means of escape like that. 'How do you do it?'

'I don't know. It just happens when... things are too much.'

'Watching me getting a beating was _too much_?' she laughed a little. 'You should try being the one getting it.'

'Every time he hit you, I felt it,' Jaime said, his voice serious. It was almost funny, because Jaime was never serious. 'It hurt me just as much. No Cers, it hurt me more to watch you getting hurt, because... it was you.'

Cersei saw in the candlelight that Jaime's green eyes glimmered with tears. She knew he was speaking the truth, and that no matter what happened, he would be on her side always. That she'd never be truly alone as long as he lived, and that other people could try and keep them apart but they would always find a way to be together.

'What did he make you do, in the study?' she asked.

'Writing. Reading.' Jaime sounded disgusted. 'For five hours. He told me Tyrion could read better than I can.'

'Who cares. You have arms and legs that work properly.'

Jaime looked thoughtful. 'I worry Father is going to find out about that puppy. I told Tyrry to put him in the servant's entrance porch, behind the kitchens, in a box. Father never goes there, he should be safe.'

_So you two can train the mutt up together, run around in the woods together hunting, while I'm stuck inside with Septa? Great, _Cersei thought. 'I hope Father does find out,' she said, bitterly. 'It will serve the little monster right for making us get caught -'

'Hey, it wasn't Tyrry's fault. He's too young to understand, Cers.'

'He's a horrible little - cursed - little _creature _-'

'Shhh Cers, shhh it's alright.' Jaime hugged her tight and kissed her hair. 'You don't mean it. He loves us and we're all in this together. All of us.'

Cersei lay still. _Easy for you to say, _she thought, _no-one beat you until you almost couldn't breathe because Tyrion wanted to show off a dumb dog._

She lay quietly beside Jaime, listening to his breath grow deeper and more rhythmic until she was sure he was asleep. She dozed and dreamed they were standing on the edge of the waterfall and he was telling her to dive off, that he would be right behind her, but when she looked down she was scared of how far away the water was. They were so high she felt dizzy, and as she stood on the ledge, it got higher and higher until clouds drifted around their feet. She knew the falling would be the worst part, that it would make her feel sick, but then Jaime grabbed her hand and dived off with her, and the falling wasn't scary at all, it was like flying.

She woke up to Jaime talking softly, whether to her or himself she didn't know. 'Father was wrong. He says you can't do the things I do, because you're weaker than me. But that's not true. You are just like me.'

She closed her eyes, and then she was asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

The handmaiden came to get Cersei for breakfast the following morning. Jaime had woken early as he always did, while the light outside was still faded, and was long since back in his own room. Cersei pulled the counterpane over her head and tried to ignore the maid, a plump girl of around sixteen, as she bustled around picking up pieces of shattered vase and broken candle sticks. When she found the mangled remains of the gown shoved under the rug she didn't say a word, just paused and then added it to her basket of rubbish to be removed.

'You had best be gettin' yourself downstairs M'Lady,' the maid said, shaking out the rug, 'Your father is waitin' for you, and you know how he don't like waitin'.'

'_Doesn't_ like waiting,' Cersei corrected, her voice muffled by the bedding.

'Beg pardon, M'Lady?'

Cersei sat up, sighing heavily. 'You know how my father _doesn't_ like waiting, not how he _don't_ like waiting. Learn how to speak properly.' _This maid is even dumber than the last one. Where does Father find these imbeciles? Is he deliberately surrounding me with them as a torture?_

'Sorry M'Lady,' the maid bobbed her head, contrite.

Cersei got out of bed and pulled her underclothes off, tossed them onto the floor. She stretched her long limbs and yawned. 'Where is my gown? Or am I to go down to breakfast with Father naked?'

The maid looked at the tattered ball of silk in the rubbish pile, and dithered, as if uncertain what to say that wouldn't aggravate her mistress. She went over to the wardrobe and pulled it open, began to shuffle through the dresses and robes hanging inside.

Cersei had forgotten that revealing her bare skin, which she normally loved to do, was this morning also revealing the marks of her caning. She felt a twinge of humiliation that her maid should know this, a feeling which turned immediately into a desire to get back at the maid in some way. 'Don't even consider bringing me an _old_ gown. You know Father expects me to be in a new gown all the days that he's at home. He leaves a great deal of gold to the maids so that they can ensure I'm dressed as a Lady of quality should be dressed. Should I go down there like this,' Cersei gave an extravagant twirl, proudly showing off her nudity, marks and all, 'and demonstrate how, despite his generosity, my handmaidens have failed to provide me with quality clothing?'

The maid looked anxious, wrung her hands together. 'No M'Lady. Of course not, M'Lady. I shall go and fetch Septa, if it please you, M'Lady. She will find a new gown for you directly. I shall let your father know you'll be late, M'Lady.' She bobbed her head yet again, and sidled out of the room. On the other side of the door, Cersei heard the maid's footsteps pattering away in a run.

Cersei giggled. _Poor fool. _So far she had destroyed two new gowns in two days, and, after the events of yesterday, now planned to destroy all the others in similar fashion. None of her numerous servants or maids, not even Septa, would dare report her involvement in the matter, because they knew she would have them replaced, not to mention punished, as soon as Father left for KingsLanding again. They would just report that the gowns had mysteriously fallen apart, and Father would complain to the dressmakers in Lannisport that their handiwork was shoddy, and probably demand compensation.

Cersei walked over to her wardrobe and opened the door to reveal the full-length mirror. She admired her reflection's slender shape, the narrow waist and boyish hips, the long, flawlessly shaped legs. Even the ankles curved just right. Sometimes it surprised her how she was changing, how her familiar childish looks were transforming every day into something that was so pleasing to the eye.

If she raised her chin and looked down with lidded eyes, her thick eyelashes winged out and gave her heart-shaped face a smouldering appearance, at odds with her age. She pouted and smirked, opened her green eyes wide then half-closed them, trying out different expressions. She had to admit, she looked attractive in every one of them. The emerald of her eyes, the dark arched brows and golden hair. _I'm going to be beautiful, _she thought, mesmerised.

Her thoughts drifted, as always, to Jaime. She wondered how long until Father was kept busy doing some urgent duty or another, and they'd be able to go off together again. _ Maybe it would be prudent to wait until Father goes back to KingsLanding. _The rock pool wasn't going anywhere, after all. They could sneak off during the day easily enough when there were only servants and Septa to evade. _This week was really going to drag, though._

Cersei turned her back to the mirror and looked over her shoulder. The lines of the cane striped across her buttocks and lower legs, pinkish-red against her porcelain skin. In the places where they crossed over each other, the lines were tinged purple with bruises. Cersei frowned at the unsightliness of the blemishes, but knew they would fade. None had broken the skin._ Father is as fastidious in punishment as he is in everything. He would never mark me permanently, no matter what I did. That would devalue his investment. And what worth is an ugly daughter? _

Cersei opened her drawers and pulled on fresh undergarments, then sat on the bed and waited for her handmaiden to return with a new gown, and help lace her into her corset. After five minutes she grew bored, and with one foot tipped the pile of rubbish out of the basket and back onto the floor.

* * *

Father rested his elbows on the dining table and leaned forward. The cupbearer was re-filling their goblets with fresh juice from a pitcher, but he waved her away. 'Leave us,' he said, and the girl scurried out.

Cersei, dressed in an immaculate sapphire-blue gown, edged in cream lace and with wasp-waist corsetry, which was as unbearably itchy as it was stunning, sat on one side of the wide table. Her brothers sat across from her, side by side.

Tyrion had only recently been allowed to eat in the dining room rather than in the nursery with his nanny. He was so tiny behind the massive dark-wood table that his chair needed to be boosted with several cushions, and his arms only just reached to the plate. Jaime helped him cut up his food into manageable pieces, and Cersei could tell this irritated Father, by the way his pale eyes narrowed every time Jaime leaned over with his knife. To Cersei's disappointment however, Father said nothing; neither banning the dwarf from the dining room nor forbidding Jaime from helping him. And so Tyrion managed to eat most of his breakfast, despite his deformed presence putting Cersei off her own food. Not that the incredibly confining corset allowed much to fit in her stomach, anyway.

She shifted in her seat, trying to find a position that didn't hurt her sore backside, and trying to get her lungs to take in enough air so that she wouldn't actually pass out. Her handmaiden had laced the corset fastenings tighter than usual, maybe as a small act of rebellion against Cersei tipping out the rubbish._ I'll have her sent back to the slums in Lannisport, _Cersei thought. _I'll tell Father the lowborn whore broke my vase_.

She wondered where the puppy was. Tyrion seemed as happy as usual, so she guessed Father had not found it. Yet.

Father dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. 'I have come to a decision regarding your futures,' he announced. He let his gaze rest on the twins in turn. Cersei hadn't expected such news, and her heart beat a little faster. She felt even fainter. _ What does he mean? Is this because of yesterday? _

Jaime also looked up, wary. Tyrion continued trying to scoop the last piece of blackberry custard pie into his mouth, while it seemed equally determined to evade his spoon by sliding around and around his honey-smeared plate.

Father regarded his older children in silence a while longer. He never made a statement without considering it carefully beforehand. Since everyone he ever met always waited on his every word, it didn't matter how long it took him to come up with them. Finally he fixed his gaze on his daughter.

'I have decided that you, Cersei, shall accompany me to Kingslanding when I return, in five days hence. You are becoming wilful as you grow older, and it is time for you to be shaped by firmer controls. It seems I cannot trust the servants here at Casterly Rock to do a good job of it.'

Cersei opened her mouth to speak, but Father raised an eyebrow, silencing her with a withering look. Satisfied that she was not going to try to interrupt again, he turned to his oldest son. 'Jaime. You will remain here with the Captain of my Guard, to continue with your training. You are heir to Casterly Rock, and this is the time of your life when discipline must be formed and consolidated; life-long habits of restraint and diligence acquired. There is no room for any... ' here he glanced at Cersei, '... distractions.'

_Take me away and leave Jaime here? No, he can't. Even Father wouldn't be so cruel. He's scaring us, that's all. _Cersei looked over at Jaime, who slouched and stared at the surface of the table. His fringe fell in his eyes, and under it his expression was mutinous. He refused to meet Father's gaze. Next to him, Tyrion happily smacked his lips together and banged the spoon against his bowl. 'More pie?' the dwarf asked, looking around hopefully.

'You will watch over your younger brother and make sure that adequate discipline is likewise given to him,' Father went on to Jaime. 'Despite his afflictions, he is still a Lannister and must learn to behave like one. The boy must be made to realise that no concession will be given to his stature or capabilities. I trust you will see to it, Jaime, that no-one does things for him that he must learn to do for himself.'

Jaime looked up then, a sulky look on his face. 'Things like cutting up his food because his arms are too short, Father? Is that what you mean? Even if it means he can't otherwise _eat his food?'_

Father tilted his head, amused that his son would talk back to him.

'He will only go hungry for a while. I'm sure it won't kill him. Self-mastery is important, lest he become as warped in his actions as he is in his appearance. Difficulty is what makes us grow. Now I'm sure the two of you both have plenty of... _studies_ to occupy yourselves with.' Father stood up abruptly, the conversation, as far as he was concerned, now at an end. He signalled to the waiting staff to clear the table. Tyrion smiled up into his father's face as he strode briskly past on his way to the door, but Father did not once look at his youngest son.

Cersei couldn't breathe properly, her lungs were too constricted. The room started spinning slowly in an odd way, and her ribcage spiked with a stabbing pain. She pushed her chair back, got to her feet. Septa was standing beside the table and began to walk over to her, but Cersei was already moving towards her twin. She had to talk to him, sort this out_. Maybe we could run away. Father would never find us._

As she came around the edge of the table, the Captain of the Guard, who had been positioned near the door, suddenly stepped out in front of her and blocked Jaime from view. 'Your father has instructed that you and your brother are to be kept apart for the remainder of his stay at Casterly Rock, M'Lady,' he said.

'Get _out _of my _way!' _Cersei spat.

The Captain smiled coldly at her and turned, taking Jaime's arm firmly and pulling him up from the chair, then guiding him out of the room. Jaime flashed Cersei a look that was despairing and defiant in equal measure, before the door closed behind them and then he was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Cersei decided that the best way to get Father to relent his rule on her and Jaime being kept apart was to be the best behaved daughter she could possibly be.

She spent the rest of the afternoon concentrating on getting her needlepoint picture exactly right. She didn't say a word about her uncomfortably-laced corset, despite the steel busk digging under her breast until she was sure it had rubbed raw. She didn't look out the window once, despite the sun beams patterning the floor of the study. She didn't complain to Septa about stabbing her thumb with the needle, twice, nor about the cramp in her hand from painstakingly unpicking the lines of crooked stitches and re-doing them. When Father came up to check on her progress after supper (which was provided for her and Septa in the upstairs dining room), the needlepoint lilies stood perfectly in their bowl with stems as straight as arrows. Cersei held her breath as Father judged her work.

'Much better,' he commented. He looked marginally less dissatisfied than usual. 'You see. I knew if you applied yourself you could achieve something.'

'Thank you, Father.' She nibbled on her thumb nail. 'May I... ask something of you?'

His expression pained. 'Do stop that disgusting habit, Cersei.'

'Sorry, Father.' She looked suitably contrite and put her hands behind her back. 'I was wondering if I may be allowed to have dinner downstairs tomorrow, with you and Jaime. And... Tyrion.' She twisted her fingers together anxiously while waiting for his reply, which was its usual long time in coming.

'We shall see. Tomorrow I have arranged for an etiquette and a dancing tutor from Lannisport to arrive early. They will occupy you until after noon, when your languages teacher will be here. I will of course discuss with them all at length how you are progressing.'

'And then may I... join you for meals downstairs?'

'As I said. We shall see.' Father regarded her for a long minute, his eyes dropping to her chest to where her flesh bulged out over the top of the corsetted mantle. 'Your figure is becoming soft from sedentary pursuits. I think it may be best if from now on your meals are tailored accordingly. You cannot continue to eat like your brother, who is active all day.'

He turned away from her and addressed Septa. 'I expect to see at least two finished embroidery patterns tomorrow. Perhaps something a little less... simple?' Septa nodded and he walked out, closing the door behind him.

Cersei fumed with frustration._ I will go mad tomorrow with this schedule. And when can I talk to Jaime? Surely he will tell me this whole idea of taking me to KingsLanding is just a ruse to make me behave? _She brought her hands back up to her mouth again and began chewing her nails. Septa gave her a disapproving glance.

'You look ugly when you screw your face up like that, Septa,' Cersei said, her eyes wide with sincerity. 'You can really see how many lines you have.' She stood up, stretched. 'Now, take me to my room it's time for my bath.'

* * *

That evening dragged on into the next day. A guard had been stationed outside her bedroom door from dusk until dawn. Cersei ate all her meals upstairs with Septa, she practised dancing until her feet ached in the ridiculous pointy slippers, she studied languages and improved her penmanship. She arranged sprigs of apple blossom in vases and embroidered two new patterns, only one of which she had to re-do when Father pointed out that the fruit bowl was missing a cherry. She bit her tongue and did everything she was told, but she did not once see Jaime.

She heard him talking outside, through the window of the study late in the day, along with the sound of hoof beats. She threw down her sewing and ran over to the window, despite Septa's objections. For a brief moment Cersei imagined Jaime riding right up under the window and calling out for her to climb down, whereby they would ride off together. But by the time she got there and peered over the sill, he'd already gone. Probably hunting with Father. She tried not to dwell on it.

Nor did she see Jaime the next day, which followed a depressing similar schedule. Except dance was replaced with singing. Her singing tutor was a dandy with lot of oil in his hair, which he'd fashioned into a quiff. Cersei amused herself by enquiring innocently whether he had bad teeth because 'Your breath smells', after he introduced himself. She then pulled a face every time he spoke, so that by the end of the lesson he was holding his hand self-consciously in front of his mouth whenever he talked.

She saw one of her brothers the day after that, but it was the wrong brother. She was being escorted to her room after supper by Septa, and the dwarf was on the stairs with his nanny, hanging off the bannister and kicking his feet in the air while Nanny unsuccessfully attempted to prise him off.

'See Sisi!' Tyrion squealed, as Cersei passed by above him. He ducked between the handrails, easily evading Nanny's grasp. Then he came clambering up the stairs, using his stumpy hands to climb. Cersei stopped and waited for him, pasting a smile on her face.

'Tyrion!' she said, forcing enthusiasm. Remembering what Jaime had done, she got down on her knees as he galloped up to her. 'How are you, little brother?' He flung himself into her lap, and she put her hands around his stunted form and patted him gingerly on the back.

'Sisi! Come outside with me? Come play with me? Read book with me?' Tyrion was a manic bundle of energy as he romped around. Nanny finally made it to the top of the staircase and came puffing towards them, her face red.

'I'm sorry M'Lady. He... he's been a handful all day. Come along now, Tyrion. I've got a book for you, in the nursery.'

Tyrion ran behind Cersei, and when Nanny went to grab him he ran around the other way. Cersei watched as Nanny floundered about like a bear trying to catch a midge. 'Are you always this useless?' Cersei giggled. 'His legs are shrunken but he's still faster than your fat old arse.'

'Cersei!' Septa remonstrated. 'That's just rude.'

'But it's the truth.' Cersei looked vexed. 'Her arse is like a barge.'

Nanny panted and leaned forward hands on knees to get her wind back. 'Lady Cersei is right, Septa. His little Lordship is too quick for me. He needs a leash on 'im.'

'I'll read him a story, Nanny,' Cersei offered. 'I'll bring him to his room afterwards, if you'd like.'

'I'm not sure your father would -' Septa began.

Cersei rolled her eyes. 'Oh piss _off, _Septa.'

Nanny intervened hastily to make peace. 'That would be lovely, M'Lady. I'm sure your little brother would love to spend some time with you, he never stops talking about you and Jaime. And the gods know, your dear Lord Father has precious little time to spare for him. I'm sure Lord Tywin wouldn't object to your reading him a short story.' She smiled at Septa. 'And it would give me a break from 'im and all.'

Septa frowned, but said nothing else. Cersei took Tyrion's hand triumphantly and walked into her room.

* * *

Tyrion stabbed a stubby finger into the page where he wanted her to start reading from, snuggling up against her as they sat on her bed. She didn't move away from him even though his touch made her shudder slightly. His little legs stuck straight out in front of him.

'What have you been doing lately, Tyrry?' Cersei asked in a sweet voice, using Jaime's pet name for him. 'Have you been playing with Jaime much?'

'Read!' Tyrion said, stabbing the page again.

Cersei sighed and began to read. '"The Knight was barely a boy, and he was wearing a haubert made of -"'

'Hauberk,' said Tyrion.

'What?'

'Hauberk. Not haubert. Sisi say wrong.'

Cersei scowled and snapped the book shut. 'I'm done reading. Let's play a better game. It's called... 'Secrets.''

Tyrion looked momentarily disappointed about the story, but then perked up. 'Play secrets!'

'Yes, but we can't tell Father, alright?' Cersei held a finger to her lips. 'We have to keep this game a secret from everyone, especially Father. It's very, _very_ important. Can you play this game, Tyrry?'

'Yes,' Tyrion nodded seriously. 'Tyrry good at secrets. Keep Stripy a secret, in box.'

'That's right. A secret, like Stripy. You wouldn't want Father to find Stripy would you?'

Tyrion was distracted by her bearskin rug, and started growling at it.

'Tyrry!' Cersei said sternly. 'Listen! You wouldn't want Father to find Stripy, because he would kill Stripy. Squish him into a little ball, like this.' She clenched her fists together to demonstrate. Tyrion looked suitably aghast. Cersei smiled. 'So, no telling Father. Or Stripy will get...' She scrunched her hands up again.

'No kill Stripy,' Tyrion whimpered. He looked confused as to how this game had come to involve his puppy. But he was at least listening attentively now.

'I want you to play secrets with Jaime. Only me, you and Jaime play this game. I have a secret to tell Jaime, and tomorrow you have to go find him and tell him, alright? Can you do that, Tyrry?' Cersei asked. _Can you do this one thing for me, you loathsome little half-wit? Can you be actually useful for once in your useless life?_

'Secret for Jimi,' Tyrion nodded, eager to please.

'Good boy. Alright. Here's the secret you have to tell Jaime. Tell him to meet me, Cersei, on the beach tomorrow after supper.' She stared intensely into Tyrion's eyes. 'What is the secret?'

'Jimi meet Sisi on beach. After supper,' Tyrion repeated.

'Very good,' Cersei clapped her hands. 'You're a very clever little imp aren't you? Now, we must be getting you back to Nanny.' She stood up and grabbed his hand, dragging him off the bed and towards to door. Tyrion stumbled a little. 'Sisi play 'nother game with me?' he asked, hopefully.

'No, no more games,' Cersei said. She paused, then spun around to face him. 'But if you tell Jaime the secret, I'll get you _another puppy.'_

Tyrion gasped in wonder. 'Nother Stripy?'

'Not a stripy one, a _white_ one. A pure white puppy, like snow. He can be friends for Stripy. Would you like that?'

Tyrion nodded happily.

'Good. Well just make sure you tell Jaime my secret tomorrow. And say nothing to anyone else. Only Jaime.'

Tyrion nodded again, happy to have his sister's attention, his little face alight with dreams of a white puppy.


	7. Chapter 7

She ran along the rocky shore-line, her bare feet sure on the wet stones. The dark shapes of crags and cliffs loomed overhead, silhouetted black against the lighter sky. The only sun left was leaking red and orange out across the horizon. She ran like the wind, down onto the beach, the air cold in her lungs, her feet skimming over the gritty pebbles as if they could run forever.

As she neared the end of the beach, she slowed. Turned a circle, listening to the heavy wash and thud of surf out in the darkness. _Where was he?_

She knew he would be there. If she trusted in anything in the whole world, it was Jaime. He would be there. She walked towards the huge rocks banked above the sea. Waves smashed against them and white foam sprayed high into the air.

The sand was cool between her toes, and her nightgown billowed loosely around her body. She felt so free, like a caged falcon unhooded and thrown into the sky. Foot steps came from behind; she half-turned, just before hands grabbed her waist with an electrifying suddenness that made her startle and squeal even as she knew they would. Jaime swung her around and her legs lifted off the ground.

'Gotcha!' he said, laughing, and they fell onto the sand. She squirmed away and scrambled on top of him, pinning his arms on either side of his head. Her feet straddled his body, knees on his chest. Jaime let her without protest. 'Help I'm trapped,' he cried out. 'She's going to kill me.'

'Do you yield?' Cersei growled, her hair falling in his face.

'I yield,' Jaime said. He gave a token struggle. 'I am your prisoner, Ser.'

Cersei flicked her hair over his face until he spluttered and laughed. 'I said I yield! _Yield!'_

'You need to be tortured,' she declared in a deep voice. She reached down and scooped up a handful of wet sand, but in a flash he had easily caught her wrist and twisted it back. The sand fell on her bare leg. Jaime scooted backwards and sat up, pushing her off his chest onto his lap. His arms wrapped around to keep her there.

'My dear sister,' he mock-lamented, 'Ignores me for days and then torments me. How I miss her.'

'I didn't ignore you,' Cersei said. Having him so close to her again made her stomach flip over and her heart race with joy, but it was bitter-sweet. Inexplicably, she felt tears prickle in her eyes.

'Always ignoring me. Always leaving me,' Jaime teased. He tightened his arms around her, so that their bodies pressed close together. His breath hot on her neck.

'I couldn't see you, they wouldn't let me.'

'I know,' Jaime said.

They sat there for a minute, embracing. Their limbs locked together like the missing pieces of a puzzle. Cersei rested her forehead on his shoulder, he smelled like metal and salt. The wind was chill on her skin and mist from the waves damped her hair, but enfolded in her brother's warmth she was whole again.

'How did you get away?' he wanted to know.

'Out my window.'

'But there are no handholds down your wall.'

'I went along the balcony to underneath your window.'

Jaime sounded impressed. 'That's a very skinny balcony. We should dig out some notches under your window too.'

'What, in KingsLanding?' she snapped.

He didn't reply. There was a long silence.

'Is it true, then?' she asked.

'I don't know,' Jaime said. He sounded flat. 'Father says... that you have to go with him. He's leaving in two days, Cers.' He buried his face in her hair.

'We could run away.'

'They'd find us.'

'I'm serious, Jaime. We could run away.'

Jaime pulled back and looked into her eyes. 'Where to? Lannisport? What do you think would happen to us when Father found us?'

'I don't care -'

'And really, Cers. Even if we could, I can't see you happily living on the streets, picking pockets just so we can eat. Would I be a sellsword, or a brigand? Do you have any idea what it's like to live as a commoner? Grow up, you're not a little girl any more.' Jaime sighed and shoved her off him, jumped up. 'Come on. Let's go for a climb.'

Cersei got up too, stung by his criticism. She bristled. 'I thought you wanted us to be together forever.'

'I do. And we will be.' He walked backwards to face her. 'I promise you. Forever. Now come on, lazybones.' He turned and started running. She chased him over to where the ledge of rocks at the far end of the beach towered into the sky.

Jaime was a good climber, but half-way up she found a section of broken rock that graduated like steps. She sprang nimbly up them and beat him to the top by a good second.

Stretching out in front of them was the expanse of a wide flat boulder, longer than their dining table. They walked to the edge and looked down. Far below, the swell of the ocean lagged and boomed. The sun had bled out into the horizon as it sank, leaving the clouds behind glowing with fire.

They sat down, legs crossed. Jaime reached and took Cersei's hand, twined their fingers together. He rubbed his thumb over the top of hers. 'It seems like ages since I've seen you. Like I don't... like you look different to me.' He was staring at her so hard it was disturbing.

'Am I getting fat?' she asked, worried, remembering Father's words.

Jaime considered her, thoughtful. 'Maybe. In some places. But it's... nice.'

'What do you mean? How am I fat?'

Jaime raised his other hand in a slow motion and lightly brushed the side of her chest, under her arm. Then his hand dropped to the curve of her hip and rested there. It tickled pleasantly, like tiny sparks lit up all along her skin. She smiled, but Jaime didn't. His eyes glazed over oddly. 'You're... different,' he said wonderingly, under his breath.

Cersei frowned and pushed his hand away. Unlinked their fingers. She knew she should be appreciating this time with him, but was abruptly infuriated by his seeming lack of concern for their situation. _What if this is the last time we're together, ever?_

'Father will marry me off to some King or Lord,' she said, sullen.

There was a long moment when neither spoke, then Jaime sighed. 'Yeah.'

'He'll be fat, or old, or stupid. He'll have bad breath and he won't care that I like swimming or that I'm good at climbing.'

Jaime said nothing, but a muscle ticked in his jaw.

'I'll have to be his wife, and kiss him and... lie in his bed with him. Have his babies and -'

'Shhh Cersei!' Jaime grabbed her forearm and gave it a shake, exasperated. 'Seven hells! Just shut... just shut _the fuck_ up.' His eyes were dark and fierce.

'He'll be the one I'll be with forever, not you. And you can't do anything about it.' She started to cry, hiccuping in her throat. Jaime looked maddened. He put his hand over her mouth to silence her, but she twisted to free herself, determined now. Jaime tried to clasp her wrists and she managed to free an arm and slapped him hard, scraping with her nails.

Jaime sat back. His expression was stunned, hurt. Cersei glared at him, breathing heavily. A thin line of blood beaded up along his cheek and she felt a thrill of satisfaction to see it.

'I love you Cers,' Jaime said. He looked like he was about to cry.

'I hate you,' Cersei said. 'You and Father and Septa and Tyrion and... _everyone._ I thought you... I thought that you...' she couldn't even speak, she was so overwrought.

'You don't hate me, you just are upset right now.'

The sun had gone and all around them the light faded to ash.

Jaime put his hand to his cheek gingerly and looked at his finger tips. 'It's a good thing you're not allowed near swords any more, Cers. You're lethal.'

She giggled.

'I think I'm bleeding to death.'

'Good.' She went to kick him with her outstretched feet, but he dodged. He held her ankle firmly and leaned over. In the darkness, she couldn't see his face very well, but she sensed he was smiling. He crawled on top of her until his mouth was inches from hers.

'Do I have bad breath?' he whispered.

'No,' she giggled again. She could feel her heart beating too fast. Having Jaime so close felt, for some reason, unfamiliar, a little scary, and suffocating. Cersei was reminded of when she'd been too long underwater and was running out of breath.

Jaime opened his mouth and she waited for him to say something, but he didn't. Instead, he gently pressed his lips on her parted lips, and his tongue licked against her tongue. She froze, surprised, because he'd never done that before. It should have felt yucky; she should have drawn away, but it didn't, and she didn't.

It felt... _right._

She closed her eyes, and beneath her, the rock, the beach, the ocean all vanished and she was falling backwards into nothing.

Then Jaime lifted his head, and the warmth of his body was gone, leaving only the cold touch of the wind. 'We should get back,' he said. Even though she knew he was next to her, his voice sounded as if it came from a distance.

Cersei sat up, head spinning. The dark night was all around and she couldn't see anything. She was blind. All she could hear was the surf surging and crashing down shore, and the rush of her own blood loud in her ears.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: Thank you to the lovely people who reviewed. The 9th and final chapter to this story will be up next week.**

* * *

Cersei woke up to the sound of horses snorting and stamping, bridles jingling, men's voices calling out to hounds. _Father must be going hunting_, she thought. _ Good. Without him around, I may get a chance to see Jaime. On this, my last day._

She got out of bed and went to the window. It was situated high up in her wall, she had to jump to reach it. The narrow width meant she didn't have to worry about falling out, because it was an effort to even squeeze herself through sideways.

She wriggled her bottom onto the sill and looked out. Early morning mist rose off the trees and the castle walls. Directly below her window, bay, roan and chestnut horses milled about like a tapestry sewn in shades of brown. Dogs darted between them, whining and yapping, their tails waving like flags.

Despite scanning the courtyard as far as her position allowed, Cersei couldn't see Father's white charger amongst them. _ Maybe he's staying home to keep an eye on me, after all._

The smell of the earth and the sea, crushed grass and horse sweat and leather. She breathed it all into her lungs, savoured it.

A horn sounded, blown by the HuntMaster. Then from around the corner trotted Father on his war-horse, resplendent in chain mail engraved with lions on his shoulder, and a red sash that draped to his stirrups. Cersei caught her breath - because there beside him rode Jaime on a spirited black horse. He was wearing a belted tunic with lion emblems on the neck, and his hair fell in his face. The strands gleamed white-gold in the sun. Under his fringe, his expression looked like he was concentrating very hard to do everything right.

The two of them halted in front of the men and the HuntMaster bowed his head and said to each in turn: 'M'Lord Tywin. M'Lord Jaime.'

Jaime nodded back.

Tywin began to speak, laying out the objectives of the hunt and each participant's roles and duties, his voice ringing out authoratively. But Cersei wasn't listening. She had eyes only for her brother. The black horse was acting skittish; maybe it was its first hunt or maybe it was just of a fiery temperament, but whatever the reason, it sidled and jogged on the spot, tossing its head up and down. Jaime sat quietly in the saddle, one hand firm on the reins to prevent the restless horse from taking off, and the other hand stroking down its shoulder to soothe it.

Cersei hoped he may sense her gaze and look up, but he didn't. He was preoccupied with listening to Father's instructions, and controlling his mount. The speech over, the HuntMaster blew the horn once more, and the horses and riders streamed out of the gate and across the hill. Cersei watched them go until the last hoof beat had faded.

Then she leapt off her sill and ran to get dressed.

Septa came to get her as usual, but instead of eating breakfast upstairs as they'd done the last few days, they went down to the dining room. Cersei hoped at least to see Tyrion, because she wanted to talk to him again about Jaime, but the only other people in the room were waiting-staff and cupbearers. They ate in silence, Cersei's mind whirring. _There has to be a way to talk to Jaime today._

After breakfast, Septa took her back upstairs to her languages tutor. Cersei repeated all the phrases back to him by rote, aware the whole lesson that time was passing. Dancing practise was next, and she stepped and spun exactly as instructed, while the minutes ticked into hours.

It was midday. The dining room was set only for her and Septa again. This time, she refused to sit down. 'Where's Tyrion?' she asked, crossly. 'Doesn't he eat here any more?'

'He's up in the nursery, with Nanny,' Septa said. 'They ate earlier.'

'Why can't I eat with at least one of my siblings? Do I have the pox?'

Septa pulled the same face she always did when Cersei complained. A mixture of resignation and sympathy.

'I don't feel well,' Cersei said, aggrieved. 'I need to lie down.'

* * *

She lay on her bed, staring unseeing at the ceiling. _More than half the day gone. _She'd unpicked her corset stays but still had a constricting tightness in her chest. She felt like the last hours of her life were trickling away from her and she couldn't stop them.

At the sound of horse shoes clinking on stone, she raced to the window. She peered down to see the hunt returning, led by the pack of hounds who's lolling tongues told of their weary satisfaction. Jaime rode up in front of the men with Father and the HuntMaster, and in contrast to the seriousness of his demeanor when he'd left that morning, now he was beaming a wide smile. Across his cheeks dark smears of some animal's blood marked him, and when one of the men made a joke, Jaime's teeth flashed and his laugh drifted across the yard.

Cersei loved Jaime's laugh, but hearing it today made acid fill her mouth. _Look at him. Blooded and triumphant_, she thought. The sight of Jaime's happiness made her own misery all the more acute.

Jaime's horse still pranced and spooked, even streaked with sweat. Nearing the castle it shied sideways at a small figure who came dashing out of the gardens, chattering with excitement. Cersei's eyes squinted as she watched Jaime rein around into a circle, then jump down and lift his younger brother into the air. Tyrion clapped his hands and squeaked as he was placed carefully in the saddle.

_If only he would fall off! If the gods are just, if they are fair, then the dwarf who killed our mother will be thrown to the cobblestones now and split his oversize skull open._ But of course the gods ignored Cersei's prayers as usual, and Jaime guided his brother's hand to pat the black horse's arched neck until it calmed down.

Father rode up to the two boys. It really must have been a good hunt, because instead of reprimanding Jaime for putting Tyrion up there, he seemed almost amused at the incongruous sight of his squat son balanced atop the elegant animal, like a wart on a Lady's nose. Father in a tolerant mood was a very rare occurrence, but Cersei could see the three of them were enjoying the moment. To her further chagrin, Jaime then vaulted up behind Tyrion and together he, Father and Tyrion led the rest of the huntsmen around to the Lion's Mouth entrance, where grooms and courtiers were no doubt waiting to congratulate them. Between Jaime's arms, the dwarf had a look on his face as if all his name-days had come at once.

Cersei stared after them as they left, until the joyous sounds of a successful Lannister hunt had completely vanished. Then she slowly lowered herself down off the windowsill. She went back to her bed and slumped across it. There was no pretence, she really did feel quite sick.

* * *

It was late afternoon when Septa pronounced the stitching in her needlepoint as adequate. Cersei put the material on the table in the study and studied her fingers. Pinholes of red dotted their tips, where the needle had slipped. _I'm blooded too, Jaime, _she thought._ Only no-one gives a damn about me._

'You've done very well. You may relax and go for a walk,' Septa said with a smile. 'There are refreshments in the upstairs conservatory, if you want.'

'May I go for a walk outside?' Cersei asked.

'No, you know that's not allowed today.'

'Downstairs?'

'No, dear.' Septa sat there with her hands in her lap, her eyes regarding Cersei with kind pity. Cersei had a vision of standing up, walking over to the older woman and stabbing her embroidery needles right into those pitying eyes, bursting them. Then using the points of the needles like a crow's beak she would pluck the eyes right out of her withered old head. The vision was so realistic that Cersei almost believed she'd done it, and looked at her hands to make sure they weren't covered in blood.

'May I at least see my brother before I retire to bed?' she said quietly.

'You know that Lord Tywin has expressly forbidden contact between you and Jaime -'

'_Tyrion!' _Cersei gritted out. 'Not Jaime. I want to see _Tyrion_.'

Septa sighed, and then nodded.

Tyrion was on the floor of his nursery when she entered, pushing a small army of wooden horses and soldiers into formations. At Nanny's greeting of Cersei, he gave a piercing shriek, leapt to his feet and ran over. He cavorted around and around them in dizzy circles until Nanny left the room to talk to Septa outside, and he was alone with his big sister.

Grabbing her hand in his little paw, he dragged her over to his carefully arranged figurines. She detached herself, wiped her hand on her skirt, and knelt down beside him.

'What are you playing, Tyrry? Are these soldiers going into battle?'

'Going hunting,' Tyrion explained, concentrating. He held up a figure on horseback, then another. 'This one Jimi. This one me. This one...' he reached into the pack of figurines and held up a dragon-like monster with jaws agape, '... Father.'

'Which one is me?' Cersei asked.

Tyrion looked all around himself as if puzzled. 'Sisi not here.' He pointed to the far end of the nursery where in a dark, cobwebby corner, crates and boxes were stacked in a tower. 'Sisi up there.'

'What am I doing up there?' Cersei said, annoyed.

Tyrion's mouth turned down and he shrugged. 'Girl stuff.'

She narrowed her eyes. 'Did you go hunting with Jaime today?'

'Yes. Jimi put me on horse. Tyrry ride horse!'

'Then what did you do?'

'Tyrry ride horse! Gallop, gallop, gallop!' He sprang to his short legs and skipped around the room as if riding a horse. He made a horse- snorting sound and then turned and skipped back the other way.

'I mean, after that. What did you and Jaime do?'

'Gallop, gallop, gallop!' He neighed and shook his head, pawing the wooden floor.

_'Tyrion!' _Cersei hissed.

He finally stopped and sat down again, puffing.

'What did you do afterwards?'

'Jimi and me did training for dogs. Trained Stripy,' he said with pride.

'You played with the dog?'

'Stripy can stay now. Jimi teach. Stay Stripy, stay! Nooo, nooo. _Stay!' _Tyrion's mimicking of Jaime's voice was uncannily accurate. Cersei could picture the scene clear as if she'd been there; Jaime repeating the commands to the puppy in a firm voice, then rewarding it with a scratch and a cuddle. Jaime loved animals and they responded well to anything he wanted to teach them. Cersei knew that in a month or so, Jaime would have that mutt balancing food on its nose and walking backwards.

_Everyone loves Jaime._

'I'm going away tomorrow. Do you know that, Tyrry?'

'Yes. Sisi go away.' Tyrion's face suddenly crumpled and tears welled up. 'Tyryy miss Sisi! Not want Sisi to go!' He balled up his fists and rubbed them fiercely into his eyes.

Cersei waited impatiently for him to quit blubbering. 'I need you to give Jaime something. Because I can't. I'm not allowed to see Jaime, so can you...' Cersei pulled a folded piece of parchment from her skirt and handed it to her brother. 'Can you give this to him?'

Tyrion stared at her glassily through wet eyes. 'For Tyrry?'

'No! Not for Tyrry,' she said. 'For Jaime. Give it to Jaime. Alright?'

Tyrry nodded, sniffed. He wiped a hand under his nose and Cersei looked away, disgusted. Finally he took the proffered note out of her hand and started to unfold it.

'Don't do that, stupid! It's for Jaime. You can't read it,' she snapped.

'Tyrry can read good. Not stupid.'

'_Do. Not. Read. It_.' Cersei scowled, emphasising each word by poking her finger into his chest. Tyrion looked nervous. Clutched the note in his fist.

Cersei stood up, brushed off her skirt and walked across the room. As she reached for the door handle, Tyrion scampered after her and blocked her way. 'I miss you Sisi,' he said mournfully. 'When go. Sad for Sisi.'

She stared at him for a long moment. 'Make sure Jaime gets my note,' she said. Then she pushed past and went out of the room without looking back.

* * *

Father was leaving her room just as she arrived with Septa, along with a workman of some sort in a dusty apron. Cersei paused in the doorway, next to the guard who was stationed outside. She looked over to her window. The daylight coming in through the opening was striped from the newly-installed iron bars.

'Why...?' she exclaimed, despair catching her throat.

'Safety,' Father said.

'But it's too high for anyone to... ' she couldn't finish, as all hope for meeting Jaime tonight ran out of her like the last grains in an hour-glass.

'Well, perhaps it will stop sand from the beach blowing into your room,' Father said. 'I found quite a quantity of it under your window sill today. And in your sheets.' He raised one eyebrow while she struggled to keep her expression from betraying her. 'Curious how the winds work around here. Isn't it?'

She didn't reply. What was there to say?

'I will see you at dawn,' Father said. 'I expect you to be dressed and ready.' Then, he left.

Outside Cersei's window, the sunlight began to tint orange. Later, she ate supper with Septa upstairs, tasting nothing. Then she was escorted to her room again, the door locked. The last day ended as it had begun, with her alone.

* * *

It was late at night, so late even the crickets and night insects had hushed. Moon-light slivering in through the window bars and slanting across her floor. A tiny flick of sound, so indistinct she almost thought she'd dreamt it. But when she turned her head, there was a black speck lying on the rectangle of light cast by the moon. Cersei sat up, swung her feet out of bed. Padded over and picked up the pebble, rolling its smooth coolness in her hand.

At the window she hoisted herself up. The bars were cold on her palms as she gripped them, pressing her face to their curves. The air outside sharp as frost.

Below in the courtyard stood Jaime, dressed only in a white night shirt and underwear. He had his arm bent back to throw another pebble, but when he saw her face in the window he stopped. She stared at him and he stared at her and in the colourless light he looked dipped in silver.

'Jaime,' she whispered. Held out her hand, through the bars, her fingers spread. On the moon-lit ground below, her hand's shadow almost touched him.

'Cersei', he mouthed, held out his hand.

Then he put his fingers to his mouth and kissed them. In his other hand, he had her letter clasped to his chest. He smoothed it out and lifted it to his eyes, and she watched his lips move as he read it to her silently, although it being so short she knew all the words. 'Meet me at the beach again after supper. I need you. I love you. Forever, Cersei.'

Jaime re-folded the letter and pressed it to his heart.

Then as Cersei watched, he slowly walked around the side of the castle wall and disappeared into the blackness.

It felt like time froze and she sat there for an eternity. Tears pricking like ice on her cheeks.


	9. Chapter 9

She stood on the steps outside the Lion's Mouth entrance, amid the chaos of bellboys and servants, cooks and guards. Grooms and handmaidens and coachmen. People lifting bags down the steps and into carriages, people shouting and horses being led back and forth. She stood there in her new dress, her shoes pinching her feet, waiting for that one moment when Septa's attention was diverted by a bellboy who wasn't sure which valise went in which coach. Then, Cersei turned and fled.

There were so many people milling around, probably the entire staff of Casterly Rock, gathered to assist Lord Tywin as he left for KingsLanding, but they were all concentrating on their assigned tasks. She ran light and fast, as if she weren't wearing an elaborate hooped dress and gold-inlaid heeled slippers, but was instead barefoot and in breeches. As if the polished red-and-gold patterned tiles of the vast hall were instead a dirt track winding through the forest, or sand on a beach. Once she'd made it through the archway separating the great hall from the rest of the castle, the place was deserted.

She figured she had about five minutes before Septa noticed her missing. Maybe ten before they found her. She ran down the corridor, slipping like a shadow between the pillars.

When she reached the servant's entrance, she pulled the door open and went into the musty, dark porch. She sat on the wooden step and felt underneath it. It didn't take long to find the old boots that she kept hidden there. She'd never paid them much notice before, but now she was struck by their shabby appearance. The heels were worn and stained with grass and mud, the toes scuffed from running and climbing, riding and hunting. As Cersei held the boots in her hand, she suddenly felt unable to move. Memories of all the times she'd pulled them on and raced outside came crashing in on her. She knew she'd never wear these boots again.

* * *

By the time she came out of the servant's entrance and started walking back along the corridor the way she'd come, she felt numb. Tears had dried spidery tracks on her cheeks, but inside she was dry and empty.

There was a noise at the base of the staircase and familiar footsteps coming towards her. Cersei would know them anywhere. She stopped and waited, holding her breath.

Jaime stopped too, when he saw her. They faced each other from across the hall. Cersei realised a simple truth: The thing you least want to lose is the very thing that slips out of your hands most easily. _It shouldn't be so easy, to lose something so important, _she thought. But it was.

'I lost you', she said.

'You didn't lose me, Cers,' Jaime replied, with a small smile. 'I'm right here.'

He walked up to her, slowly, as if she might bolt if he made any sudden movements. Until he was standing so close they could have touched. 'They're looking for you.'

'I know.'

'I thought you'd come here.' He pointed to the servant's entrance. 'I thought you might be... running away.'

'Yeah.'

'But you didn't.'

'I still might.' Her hands clenched in the folds of her full skirt.

He fidgeted, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Jaime was never good at standing still. He raised a hand to her face and awkwardly wiped the tear trails from it. 'It's gonna be weird here without you.'

Cersei bit her lip. 'I wish...' She heaved a huge sigh, looked down.

'That we could be together forever?' Jaime finished for her. 'We will be. Otherwise, nothing makes any sense.'

'Maybe it isn't meant to make sense.'

'We came into the world together. I was holding onto you, remember?' Jaime grinned. 'I'm always gonna be with you.'

'No. You aren't.'

'I am,' he insisted. He grabbed her chin and tipped her head so she had to look at him, and she saw that even though he was smiling his green eyes were wet. 'Just look at your reflection and there I'll be. Right with you.'

'Lady Cersei!' Septa spluttered with outraged relief, her footsteps echoing loud as she marched down the corridor towards them. She was flanked by two guards. 'We've been searching all over for you! Come on this instant, it's time to go!'

* * *

Outside on the steps, the sun came and went behind indecisive clouds. The whole staff contingent had assembled in the front courtyard to farewell them. She walked along the length of the gathering, next to Father, with her head down, not seeing who curtsied or bowed or saluted, seeing only her gold slippers winking with every step.

Jaime was there out the front of them all, and he had a distant look on his face. Like he'd gone away inside himself. Wherever he was, it wasn't standing stiffly to attention in the courtyard of Casterly Rock, in his finest military uniform, with a squadron of Lannister soldiers on either side.

Cersei wondered where he'd gone. If he was laying next to her on a sun-warmed rock, gazing into the clear water at their same reflections. Or in her bed with arms around her, legs tangled, hearts beating to the same rhythm. Or chasing her up a beach at night until they were breathless. Sitting face-to-face with their fingers linked, palms tight together as an unopened seed pod. Leaning over her in the dark and pressing his mouth onto hers.

'Goodbye Cersei,' Jaime said, formally.

'Goodbye Jaime,' she whispered.

Father was addressing the crowd, but his speech skipped over Cersei without sinking in. Random words dropped meaninglessly into her brain. 'Heir to Casterly Rock,' 'Responsibility,' 'Expectations,' 'Lannisters.' Then she was being escorted across the cobbled stones to the waiting carriage, the door was opened and she was climbing in. Septa and two handmaidens sat across from her in the stuffy interior, on red velvet bench seats. The door was slammed, and the only window to see out of was so small that through the square pane of glass nobody outside seemed real.

The one face that Cersei couldn't see amongst the crowd was Tyrion's. The one time she wanted to see him, and he was nowhere. The little dwarf was always laughing or smiling, as if nothing bad had ever happened to him and he couldn't imagine it ever would.

In her mind's eye, Cersei saw a replay of herself half an hour or so ago, sitting there on the step in the servant's entrance porch. She was holding her boots in her hand. Her old boots, that she knew she'd never wear again. She saw them dropping to the floor as she stood up. Walking to the wash basin, the rusty tap creaking as she turned it on, the sound of the pipes rattling, the weight of the full bucket as she pulled it up out of the sink, water sloshing onto her dress. Then over to the corner, to where the box sat half-hidden under some old coats.

The stink of milk and dog as she opened the lid. Feeling the warm fur of the puppy soft between her hands as she lifted it up, then the sudden coldness of the water as she plunged her hands down into the bucket.

'Sorry,' she'd said, her eyes blurred with tears. The squirming thing between her fingers wriggled and kicked, hard at first and then slower and slower, until after only a few minutes it just floated limply in her hands like a scrunched up rag. When she'd dried it off with a towel and put it back in the box, its paws had curled up under its chin like it was sleeping.

_You will never run through the woods with Jaime and Tyrion. I can't, and neither will you. My brothers will never bond together over your training, or go hunting with you, or cuddle up to you, or tell you their secrets. _'Sorry,' she'd said, as tears ran down. But she'd felt a rush of power like fire in her chest.

Cersei's gaze searched the faces of the people gathered beneath the steps, as the driver whistled and slapped his horse's reins and the wheels of the carriage started to roll forward. Tyrion was not there, she was certain of it. She craned her neck, scanning the crowd. _ Where was he? _

She just wanted to see his face.

The carriage rumbled down the long driveway, picking up speed, tilting as the ground sloped. Rain spattered against the roof, and shadows from scudding clouds made the stone walls look like they was moving. The castle and everyone in it receded into the distance. At the bottom of the hill the road turned and Cersei could again see the courtyard from her window.

The figures standing out front were so far away that she couldn't distinguish between them. She thought she could still see the gold of Jaime's hair, but it may have been light catching on the stones. Then the road curved around, and Casterly Rock and all its inhabitants disappeared. They were replaced by the wind-twisted shapes of trees growing along the cliff. The flattened sea-grass and the grey sky.

Cersei kept looking through the window, not seeing the landscape rushing past outside but only the image of herself in the glass_. _

Septa leaned forward. She placed a hand on the girl's knee and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 'I know you're sad, my dear, because you love your home, and your brothers. But this is the start of a whole new life for you. Just wait until you see KingsLanding! The Red Keep, The Great Sept of Balor, Visenya's Hill, the Royal family! Oh, you'll be amazed. You'll forget all about the childish loves you had to leave behind.'

_No. _Cersei stared harder at her reflection. _I don't think so._

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_Author's note: Thank you to all reviewers and readers especially TheVillianStratigist for writing such an indepth analysis right at the start, and analith and sophie for being nice and inspiring me. I plan on writing another Lannister story soon, but I'm still deciding which disturbing time in their lives to tackle. There are too many to choose from. Cheers_


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